Comfortably Numb
by goodbye31bluesky
Summary: "The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places."
1. Chapter 1

**AN**: Author is very, very nervous. I apologize beforehand for any mistakes. My first longer story - hope you like.

**Disclaimer**: Any recognizable characters belong to NCIS and its creators.

Chapter 1

"Just tell me your name."

He was drunk enough to find playing along entertaining.

"Let's say...Grant. Red Grant. ". He cracked a smile, but his eyes remained cold and distant.

"You cast yourself as the villain. Interesting." The man leaned back on his chair, shifting his gaze upon the empty glass on the table.

"I'm not buying you a drink, Dr. Phil."

"Didn't think you had any to share."

"So I had a bad week, sue me. Wait, scratch that. Bad month. Although, if you really think about it, it's more like the whole year. Really, a regular _Barfly_ routine. 1987 classic, Mickey Rourke..."

"Faye Dunaway."

"You know movies."

"I know enough."

"Well, to tell you the truth, I lied a little." A wide grin overpowered his features.

"You have the attention span of a five year old."

"So I've been told."

"I thought we could have a serious conversation."

He chuckled. "You want serious, you came to the wrong place."

For the first time, he took his eyes off the glass he was playing with, studying the man in front of him. White, mid-forties, short hair cropped amateurishly in a buzz cut, tiny scar on his left cheek. Average height, average weight, from what he could tell. He smiled to himself, realising what countless sketches and witness descriptions had done to him. This one looked familiar, though.

"I am exactly where I want to be."

"Really? You dream of spending your Friday evenings in bars, drinking yourself into a long, dreamless sleep?"

"No, I dream of spending them with you."

"You kinky bastard. I don't swing that way."

"Always use humour as a shield?"

"Right, right. My suit of armour and all that. Deflection, I believe they call it. Spare me the psychobabble. I'm not in the mood. And if you don't like it, you're welcome to leave."

"We both know I can't do that."

"Aww, I knew it. You met me and now you can't imagine your life without me. Happens to everyone. Like a piercing. Once the skin grows back...you come to love it." He burst into laughter, memories of pigtails, black lipstick and a warm smile coming to mind.

The man looked fairly amused, trying to discern between the usual charade and the effects of the single malt scotch. He couldn't decide if he had changed or remained more himself than ever, even underneath the cheeky exterior.

"And yet you're alone."

The comment had hit a weak spot, making the younger man cringe, but years of undercover work showed their true value, keeping any kind of emotional response off his features.

"I have you, don't I? " he beamed.

"Should I feel flattered?"

"Of course. I don't share my booze-induced self-loathing sessions with just anyone." He gave him a quick wink before signalling the bartender for a refill.

"I thought you were too narcissistic for that."

"We already entered the criticism phase of our relationship, _darling_? How disappointing. Hate to break it to you, but you don't know me well enough_._"

"I know you better than you think."

"Is that so?" he stated absently, now leering shamelessly at the waitress who had brought him his drink, her long legs and short skirt waking up senses he thought he had dulled with alcohol. He wished for nothing more than to bury memories and demons in yet another meaningless night soon forgotten. She welcomed the attention, leaning over dangerously close while emptying the table in one swift, provocative move. He held her gaze, and shifted closer, whispering something in her ear. Giggling, she gave him a suggestive look to the big clock on the wall and sauntered away, fully aware of his eyes burning with desire.

The man watched the exchange with a mixture of fascination and disgust. He was right. It was the same shallow man. Indifferent, arrogant and uncaring. He forced himself to keep the anger at bay.

"Yes, Agent Dinozzo, I do." That earned a surprised look, but his conversation partner remained unfazed.

"That's _Very Special Agent_ to you." He was now studying the stranger more carefully, brought back to reality by the sudden fragment of honesty in the light-hearted banter.

" You keep proving my point."

"Are you saying that I'm predictable? That would really hurt my feelings."

"Why are you here?"

"Well, it would be rude to leave you talking to yourself."

"I don't know, I do love a good one-sided conversation."

"And the sound of your own voice."

"No, that's you."

"True. But you have to admit, it's pretty sexy." The young agent laughed, enjoying himself, despite the familiar voice in his head that kept nagging him. Something about a Rule 39, about coincidences, about not believing what you were told. But he tuned it out. After so much time spent just going through the motions, there was finally something different. Exciting. He wasn't sure if he cared enough to try to guess the outcome.

"Are there more layers to you?"

"Hey, it's the vodka. And the scotch. I'm not this puffy usually."

"You know what I meant."

"I do. But that doesn't mean I have to answer."

"You can't keep avoiding your mistakes forever."

"What makes you think I make mistakes? I am a highly trained federal agent, after all. My expertise in the field is quite unparalleled, if I do say so myself."

"You're a broken man." He stated simply, ignoring the self-congratulatory rant.

"Oh, really? What was your first indication?" The answer dripped with sarcasm and bitterness.

"Well, for one, you're three sheets to the wind."

"It's not a school night, _Mom_.". The last word was drawn out in a childish voice." Still could take you." He mused, his eyes eager for a challenge. The man across the table, although older, seemed fit and muscular, and his cold stare told the agent more than any bar brawl ever would.

"I'd like to see you try." he replied, bemused. "Still haven't told me what you're searching for in such a ...dingy establishment."

"Absolution." The rebuttal came quick, unexpected. It was almost a crack in his defence. He could see the price of the admission on his face. Pain filled his eyes for a short moment, the cloak dropped, the silly grin disappeared. But, just as fast, it all fell back into place.

"For what?"

"You're not my priest."

"Talking about it helps."

"Not my psychologist, either. Not that I have one. A psychologist, that is. Or a priest. Wait, there must be a joke somewhere in there. " He snickered, intoxication in full effect. "And, seriously? That is pretty much the worst line ever. Hope you don't do this for a living. You would increase the suicide rate all on your cheerful own."

He didn't know what he said. All he knew was that, all of a sudden, he was staring back in icy brown eyes, too close for his liking. Then, a similar image passed through his mind, in a blur of screams, stuttered apologies and heartbreaking sobs.

"You don't remember me."

The noise suddenly stopped. The loud argument of a couple two tables over, the ominous clink of glasses, the victorious shouts of football aficionados, they all seemed to hit a brick wall towering over the two men. Although he accepted it was beyond the realm of his possibilities, Special Agent Anthony Dinozzo could swear that he heard the familiar click of a gun releasing its safety pin. He looked over and smiled.

"And you didn't even let me finish my drink."


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Thank you so much for your reviewing and following! Hope you like this new chapter. It takes a little for the story to kick into full gear, so bear with me. Big portion in italics-flashback. Relevant, I promise:)

Chapter 2

_..."And you didn't even let me finish my drink."_

He was ready to face death. More so, he would welcome the peace, the quiet. He waited. For pain, for his pathetic, ultimately empty life to flash before his eyes in a last attempt at a worthless platitude. For anything. It didn't come. Instead, the man spoke softly, his right arm still bent in an unusual angle under the table.

"You didn't think it would be that easy, did you? We have some more talking to do."

"Sure, I'll bring the tissues and Haagen-Dasz. You stick with the gun. Seem fair enough?"

A loud thud. A few heads turned in alarm. A hand had hit the table with an overwhelming force, making it wobble and creak in protest.

"You spilled my drink." he calmly countered, either too wasted to comprehend the full extent of the consequences of his actions, or too reckless to care.

"This is not a joke, Agent Dinozzo."

"Does it look like I'm laughing?" he demanded, a fake coat of seriousness painted on his face."Oh yeah, I guess it does. Well, what are you going to do? You take those risks when you threaten a federal agent in a public place. Not to mention, said federal agent may have a few loose screws. And a natural talent for pissing people off. " he concluded with a smug grin, before finishing what little had remained of his drink.

"You do realize I could pull the trigger _any time_." , his voice low, but his words seeping with rage.

"But you won't." This time, he seemed stone-cold sober."Firstly, as I've already pointed out, it's rather crowded in here. And half of these kind strangers drunk on their asses are cops. That said, they hear a gunshot, they won't stop to ask how do you do. They'll shoot first, and blame you for wasting a perfectly good bottle of scotch later. Secondly, and more importantly, you need me to be sorry. You need me to repent. Honestly, I have no idea for. There are too many mistakes to choose from. But I guess you'll clarify that at some point. And finally, you won't kill me without inflicting as much pain as you can, without reaching the satisfaction that you've wholeheartedly crushed me, you've shattered every ounce of hope that I might have, without the conviction that I suffered as much as you did." He paused, letting himself fall onto the back of the chair. "Hate to break it to you, but I kind of beat you to that one."

"Clever."

"Usually am."

"You led me to believe that you could barely stammer out a proper sentence."

"It was fun watching your face. So outraged. An upstanding citizen like me..."he laughed at the irony. "I'm good. Not that good. Most of it wasn't an act. At one point Tinkerbell did rest her pretty little wings on your shoulder. She seemed happy."

"It's almost impressive."

"Almost? You hurt me."

"How fast you can slip the mask on."

"No mask."

"So you would have people believe."

* * *

"_I`m up, boss. Where?" a sleepy voice answered._

"_I see you are developing your own gut, Tony." a feminine voice came from the other end._

"_I told you, I`m working on that with a personal trainer. "_

"_What? I did not mean..." she scoffed, confused by the turn of the conversation. "Rock Creek Park, there has been a double murder. I expect you will hurry."_

"_Can`t wait to see me in my whole midnight sexiness , huh? You know, I sleep naked. " He retorted with a smirk, already going through the motions of getting out of bed._

"_That is disgusting, Tony. " He could practically see the mocking look on her face. " I meant, there are no good coffee shops open. You being late would drive Gibbs up a hill."_

"_Wa – you know what, it`s too early for this. Hold your horses, woman. I`m coming." _

_In a nimble move, he grabbed the few clothes on the floor, praying to God they were his, and headed for the living room. A tiny flicker of light coming through the window kept him from bumping into any furniture, but the final task of finding his shoes proved too challenging. Shrugging in defeat, he grabbed the first pair from the closet, considering the chance of them matching his outfit. Extremely poor, but he didn`t care, he was too tired. It was two-thirty in the morning, and that added to eight full hours of sleep in the last four days. Brushing off any hint of exhaustion, he carefully slipped his gun in the holster, and attached his badge to the belt of his jeans, slipping out the door with minimum of noise. _

_The drive to the crime scene was a welcome opportunity to properly wake up, and gather some coherent thoughts. The disgusting coffee from the drive-through didn't hurt, either._

"_What do we got?" Tony asked, lifting the yellow tape and striding towards McGee, who was already taking photos of the scene._

"_A mild case of sleep deprivation." An unimpressed look from the senior field agent quickly brought him back on track. "Dog tags, same as before , so Marines. Other than that, we are not...wait. " The younger agent suddenly glanced up in surprise. "You`re here."_

"_Well yeah, McObvious. Your observation skills are truly astounding."_

"_No, I mean, you're here before Ziva. Or Gibbs. And they drive like lunatics. How exactly...?" _

"_I`d think you`d be more interested in the two rotting corpses you're standing on, McGee" a deep, authoritative voice came from behind him. Looking down to his feet, he noticed with disgust that some bodily fluids had seeped onto his boots. _

"_Oh man, that's the third pair this month. " he whined, shaking his leg violently, in hope of removing the nasty liquid before it did any more damage._

"_Dinozzo, you waiting for a special invitation? Sketch, now." The last two words were unnecessarily harsh, albeit serving their purpose of bringing back the younger agent to reality and wiping the amused smirk off his face. _

_Orders were orders. As tired as he was, he complied, balancing a flashlight and the notepad while taking in one particular sickening view. Victims were two young men, apparently thrown without much thought or consideration in a shallow grave, now disturbed by some stray animal. The advanced state of decomposition provided the surrounding area with a pungent smell which kept curious by-passers at bay, not that there were many at that sordid hour of the night._

_And for that matter, he was completely worn out. Although the caffeine helped prompt him into some kind of awareness, his movements felt precise, mechanical, but without any logical thought process behind them. A headache was beginning to rear its ugly head, and weakness crept through every inch of his body, but Very Special Agent Dinozzo simply refused to let such trifle details keep him from doing his job. As long as Gibbs had an order for him, he would be damned if he didn't carry it out. _

_But the gruelling case had taken its toll on the entire team, and most indicative was the gloomy silence that frequently replaced the snarky remarks and witty banter. Lately, McGee had been delving into his computer going through various records hours at a time, without so much as a sound, Ziva had been spending most of her time in the interrogation room, growing more and more impatient as the days passed, and Gibbs had been barking commands left and right, snapping at anyone who dared to question him. Tony was left to deal with everyone's changing mood, and therefore forced to put his own issues aside. _

_As day to day behaviour would go, one would argue that Anthony Dinozzo was an annoying, chauvinistic, overgrown frat boy on a permanent ego trip. Arrogant and entitled, it seemed like he put more thought into expensive suits and overpriced haircuts than into the general well-being of others around him. He striked people as being cocky, self-assured and overly theatrical, giving the impression of a pathological desire to feel superior. A spoiled kid, a trust fund brat with a raunchy sense of humour and a short attention span. _

_He wasn't. He was caring, thoughtful and honest with those around him. The one-man show he engaged in so often was a very convincing facade, one that served its purpose of keeping everyone at arm's length. Until now. But he couldn't think about that. He would ruin an image that took him years to build. Tony knew the team needed him to be the class clown, the joker, the frat boy, the cheeky investigator. McGee needed to feel like the better man, the better human being in order to allow himself any kind of validation as to his role on the team, to believe in the fact that he was smarter, more important, essential. Ziva counted on him to appear weak, immature and sometimes borderline incompetent so she could assure herself of her vitality as a hardened, tough-as-nails agent, a confirmation of her successful transformation. And Gibbs. The team leader simply required someone to take his orders with undeniable loyalty, his insults with an unfaltering smile and his misdirected fits of rage as an incentive to work harder. Anthony Dinozzo was all that. And he enjoyed it at times. But lately it had become harder and harder to pull himself out of the foolish character they had casted him in. _

_However, he never dropped the pretense. He carried on, determined to rather die than disappoint any of them. Lost in thoughts of better days, he didn't even notice Ziva sneaking behind him._

"_I see you have taken my advice."_

"_Hey Zee-vah. You're late. Hot date? " he asked tentatively, snapping back to reality and studying the crimson dress that flashed from behind her coat._

"_None of your concern, Tony."_

"_Late in the night, so someone with a schedule as messed up as ours. Doctor? No, surgeon. Yes, I see how you would go for a young hottie with a God complex." He meditated, purposefully shifting the inquiries far from his own mind._

"_Why do you have to know everything about everyone?" she answered with visible irritation._

_He turned to her, flashing the brightest smile he could muster. "Makes me a good investigator." _

"_Yes, so you keep telling yourself." She retorted, with a sarcastic grin plastered on her face, heading toward the terrified couple who had discovered the bodies. _

_He followed her with his gaze, wondering if there would be a time when Ziva would look at him with some semblance of respect. Shrugging off the thought, he passed on to his next task. _

_Two and a half hours later, they had finally finished processing the scene. Each marching towards their own car, the team members shared a comprehensive nod. They would meet back at headquarters for another daunting day. Tony opened the door with a lazy gesture, letting himself sink in the seat. It was so tempting, to lean back on the headrest and catch a few minutes of uninterrupted sleep. But instead, he let down the window, starting the car, and hoped that the cold morning breeze would keep him wide awake. It was going to be a very long day._

* * *

"A long time ago, maybe. Now? I think it's just an excuse for people to believe that there is something deeper."

He was confused. He couldn't decide if Agent Dinozzo was one of the most brazen, impertinent and juvenile people he had ever met, or the most insecure and honest. Probably both. But no amount of self-pity would change his mind about his mission. He owed it to those who suffered at his hand.

"Move. We're getting out of here."

"Contrary to popular belief, I do like to know my date's name before we take it to the next step."

"Patience, grasshopper. All in due time."

"David Carradine. Nice. There may be hope for you after all."

"I'd be more worried about you. Now, stand up. Slowly. And before you think of reaching for that knife in your belt, just remember, there are lot of innocent people here tonight. Wouldn't want another one on your conscience." He didn't make any effort to hide the malicious look on his face, enjoying the torment it brought in the eyes of the young agent.

Trying to ignore the new wave of guilt and anguish brought on by the words, Agent Dinozzo carefully considered his options. Other than the knife, there weren't many, as both his firearms were home, safely locked in a beautifully carved wooden box. It had become painfully clear that violence would provide only a short-term solution to his problem, as he was struggling to keep a steady enough stance.

"At least let me pay for my drinks. I've run up quite a tab, and it would be pretty suspicious if I left without taking care of it. You know, illustrious federal agent and all. Can't have that."

The man looked torn between his desire to make a quick exit and a covert one. Reluctantly, he agreed, nodding towards the bar. Rising to his feet, he covered the gun in his hand with his black trench coat in a swift move, subsequently letting his free hand wander on Tony's shoulder in the most casual of ways. To oblivious onlookers, they looked like two old friends staggering home after one too many shots.

As he reached for the money in his pocket while they approached the bar, Tony felt the barrel of the gun pressing harder on his side.

"Easy there, tiger. Just getting the money. See?" he flaunted the twenty-dollar bills in his face with an exasperated look, then turning over to the bartender.

"Hey there, James. No Ol' Blue Eyes tonight?", came Dinozzo's effortlessly smooth introduction.

"Hey, Tony. " the man smiled. "Only at special request. Calling it a night already?" he inquired, studying the sight before him.

"Yeah. Noah here is an old friend from Philly. Thought we'd spend some quality time together." , he offered, pointing at the man beside him, who was playing his part flawlessly.

"Right. Well, don't do anything I wouldn't do." James teased, collecting the bills from the counter and watching as his friend laughed warily in response, making his way to the exit with the stranger in tow.

Once they were out the door, the expression on his face changed, worry and uncertainty taking over. He reached for his phone, and searched impatiently for the letter "G" in his contact list. He pressed dial, praying to God there would be an answer.

"Hello?" A few seconds of silence, his eyes flickering with doubt. "Yeah, he's in trouble. _Big time."_


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Again, thank you for your reviews, and for following. I hope you like this new chapter. **

Chapter 3

It felt good, working on something again. The basement had a comfortable familiarity, and the quietness was a welcome diversion. It was the best and worst part of his day. Best, because he got to unwind, to forget the many things that were wrong with the world, even for just a moment, and focus on something he could change, he could make right. Worst, because the stillness meant forgotten memories surfacing in waves of pain and misery of self-condemnation.

* * *

_With his back leaning against the cold wall, the man let himself slide down until he felt the icy touch of the dusty concrete. The expensive suit he was wearing gathered every bit of sawdust in the area, marking a ragged figure slouched over itself. His face was completely blank, almost lifeless, deep green eyes scrutinizing an inexistent line._

_Gibbs watched him intently, without saying a word. He wasn't sure there were any words good enough. And even if there were, he was convinced he wouldn't find them. Instead, he paced forward, and, with a quick, confirming look towards his agent, he lay down beside him. Minutes passed in a harrowing silence, but neither of them moved an inch. Finally, a rough voice resonated within the small room._

"_Boss, I..." , he pleaded._

"_You did the right thing, Tony."_

"_How can you say that? I...she'll never..." He couldn't continue. Every word came out strangled, heartbreaking and desolate. _

"_You did the only thing you could do."_

"_That's not enough."_

"_It has to be."_

"_That moment. It keeps playing in my head... Maybe if I had done something differently..." he stopped, a stream of emotions flooding his eyes. "It shouldn't have ended like that."_

"_But it did."_

"_You're full of heart-warming platitudes today, aren't you?" he countered, with a harshness that surprised him. _

"_What do you want me to say?"_

"_I don't know. Something." He didn't even have the energy to get angry anymore. "Anything, I guess." He added, shrugging in defeat._

"_You can't blame yourself."_

"_I'm the one who did it."_

" _I was there too."_

"_So what, should we give you a prize for participating? That only works in second grade." he spit back, unable to restrain himself._

"_You can blame me."_

"_Sure. Pile on the mountain of guilt trips."_

"_I do." _

"_You arrogant bastard." To Gibbs' surprise, the younger man suddenly rose to his feet, his words boiling with anger. "Everything must be about you. Every dead Marine, every husband, every child, every wife. __You __couldn't save them. __You__ couldn't stop them. Who do you think you are? You're just a man, despite all evidence to the contrary. You're damaged. You're afraid to let anyone in, just in case they might disappoint you. Well, I've got a newsflash for you, Gibbs. That's what people do. They make mistakes. They dive in headfirst. And you're left to pick up the pieces. And I think that's what scares you the most. That one day, you won't be able to. Tell me, did you ever forgive Kate for daring to die on your watch? That must have hurt, being so close, yet so powerless to help her. " He paused, taking in a short breath, the pain of the memory flashing briefly in his eyes. "And you know how I know it hurt? Because I was there too. Her blood on my face. On my hands. I understood going after her killer, after the one person who shattered our world. But you didn't just do that. You bottled up every last shred of emotion, except revenge. You didn't care about yourself anymore. And that is the most selfish thing you could do to a family that loves you. Needs you. You were everything to this team- leader, friend, father, mentor. So you pushed away, hoping that those around you have the good sense of letting you destroy yourself. And how many times have you done that? Taking on more than you could carry? Not trust those who stood by you to help you? You know, in the end all that will be left will be emptiness... hollow figurines. Case numbers. And when something like today happens, everything comes crashing down. Well, guess what. This time, I'm not going to let you do that. This one's on me. __I__ will have to live with that for the rest of my life. Not you." He stopped to catch his breath, finally realising he was yelling. Then it dawned on him- all the rage dissipated as abruptly as it had emerged-leaving him filled with regret._

"_You done?" His voice was calm, unfazed by the sudden outburst. Somewhere in the meantime, he had stood up, levelling Tony's gaze with matched intensity. He considered pointing out the bitter irony in his words, but decided against it, not sure of his reaction. For all his faults in communicating, Leroy Jethro Gibbs understood what his agent needed – someone to help consolidate the deception that he wasn't making that speech to and for himself. _

"_I'm sorry."_

"_Nothing to be sorry for, Dinozzo."_

"_Right. Let's ignore the fact that I almost bit your head off. And that your neighbours are probably calling the police right about now."_

"_No neighbours out here."_

_That earned the faintest of smiles, which faded away almost immediately._

"_Where do I go from here, Boss? I can't... I can't even look at myself in the mirror. Knowing what I've done..."_

"_Aw hell, Dinozzo. I don't have all the answers." he conceded, resignation in his voice. But we can start by getting you cleaned up." _

_Tony glanced down at the dark red stains that covered his white shirt. He had forgotten about them._

"_That's okay, boss. Think I'm going to take care of this one on my own." He announced, heading for the stairs. Before Gibbs could protest in any way, he was gone. It was at that moment when he knew just how hard a road they had in front of them. And what frightened him the most, even if he wasn't going to admit it to anyone, was the possibility that, this time, he might not bounce back._

* * *

A loud ring interrupted his train of thought. Cursing the bad inspiration not to have left his phone upstairs, he flipped it open without looking at the caller's name.

"Gibbs."

The voice at the other end couldn't be bringing good news. They never were.

"James. You calling 'bout Dinozzo again?"

Somewhere, deep down, he knew. He'd just hoped he was wrong.

"Damn it",he cursed under his breath.

He hung up in his usual abrupt manner, already hurrying towards the door. Pressing a button on his speed dial, he brought the phone to his ear, climbing the stairs two at a time, ignoring the sharp, protesting pain in his knees.

"McGee. I need a fix on DiNozzo's cellphone. Yes, NOW, McGee. Call me with an update. And have Ziva meet me at this address." the team leader urged, muttering a sequence of numbers and names that by now he knew by heart.

Fifteen minutes later, courtesy of their trademark borderline suicidal driving, Agent Gibbs and David were entering the grimy bar, both wearing the same look of concern.

"James." the team leader signed the bartender straight-away.

"Agent Gibbs. We meet again." The friendly bartender announced, spotting them immediately.

"Do you two know each other?" Ziva inquired, confused by the familiarity.

"Yeah, Dinozzo's a mutual acquaintance." Gibbs replied vaguely, throwing her a threatening look that cut off any further requests for additional explanations. "Where is he?"

"Don't know. Left here half an hour ago, maybe. Strange looking guy with him. "

"So why'd you call me? Not the first time DiNozzo had the McNulty special.", the obscure reference sending Ziva into a tailspin of confusion.

"True." He admitted, not bothering to hide a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes." It wouldn't, but this time he mentioned something about ... Ol' Blue Eyes." James chuckled lightly at the puzzled looks on their faces. "Normally, I'd chalk it up to the booze talking. But, in one of his drunken slurs, he mentioned something about ...his boss having "steely blue eyes that made you feel like they were piercing straight through your soul"-his words, not mine." he quickly added, noticing the questioning glare of the older man. "And he knows we don't play Sinatra anymore. Not since this place became the local hangout for those musically challenged babies that have more fingers on one hand than years on duty. Figured there was something fishy with the whole routine as soon as he mentioned it."

"Was there anything else that seemed out of the ordinary?"

"Well...he called the guy "Noah". Said he was from his Philadelphia days."

"I did not know he kept in touch." Ziva tested the waters.

"He doesn't. It's just him, me, Rick and Sam from the old days, and besides you, I've only heard him mention a few of his Baltimore buddies in passing."

"So you attended the same college?"

"Ohio State. Difference is, I actually made it into major league. "

"Basketball?"

"Yeah. As you can see, that failed miserably. I wasn't good enough to rate any decent teams, so I pretty much warmed the bench. Him, on the other hand, if he hadn't busted up his knee..." James contemplated, nostalgia overwhelming his conscious line of thought.

"And what does this have to do with Agent Gibbs?"

"Huh?"

"He called you by your first name. It is clear you two have met before."

"Yeah, we did. He was the one picking Tony up when he got into those nasty bar fights. No, "got into" is not right. More like he started them. Dare I say, on purpose. When he got like that, Agent Gibbs was the only one that could talk some sense into him. So I thought it best to have his number, just in case. What with Tony's ability to attract trouble without lifting a finger."

"Tony starting bar brawls? That is not par for the road." Ziva commented, surprised at the development of the conversation.

"Umm...course. Par for the course." He smiled bashfully, clearly intimidated by her presence. Which was quite a feat, since he was just below six-foot-three. "No, it isn't. And it wasn't. Before, he usually came once or twice a week, had a beer, caught up with old buddies and then went on his merry way. But then something must have happened. He was suddenly here almost every night, talking crazy, provoking others. Usually guys twice as big. It was like he was actively seeking to have the crap kicked out of him. "

"He sought punishment." Ziva clarified, suddenly understanding everything. "His way of receiving the penance he thought he deserved for his sins. "

"Yeah, never really asked him about it... didn't seem like there would be an answer. But after a few weeks, he was back to his normal self. Well, so I thought at least. Still drank more than usual, but he started leaving his guns at home. "

Ziva frowned.

"Insurance, he said." James clarified. "Never really understood that one. Nor was I sure I wanted to. Anyway, he went back to spending time with his buddies, he was laughing again, telling stories, talking too much, cracking jokes - so I left it alone. But...something was off. It was like he was just going through the motions - doing what others expected him to do.", he finished with a sigh.

Somewhere from the back of the room, Gibbs' voice interrupted the conversation, the healthy dose of irritation in it making the Israeli agent jump a little, slightly unsettled by her failure to observe that the team leader had left her side.

"David, you finished with the chit-chat? We have work to do."

"Thank you." , she muttered quickly in James' direction, striding hastily towards her boss.

"Just bring him home safe." He whispered, knowing she wouldn't hear him. That's all he could do. Hope. Hope he had made the right decision. Hope that it wasn't too late.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN : As always, from the bottom of my heart, a huge thank you for reviewing, and sticking with me through this exciting journey. Here's another chapter, which I hope you will enjoy. **

Chapter 4

"You know you're going to pay for that."

"For saying goodbye to a friend? "

"Is that what it was?"

He already knew the answer.

"You do know, improptu kidnapping doesn't excuse a lack of manners. And you know me. I' m a perfect gentleman. Frank Morgan would be proud." He raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief. "Wait...are we going to Oz? Because if that's happening, I feel like I should protest. You could have warned me to bring my overnight bag. I don't want to look anything less than perfect for my crazy, slightly unhinged, definitely unbalanced gues-"

The ramble was cut off abruptly by a heavy thump. He felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck, and, for a brief moment, he wanted to turn around and return the favour, gun be damned. He couldn't. He suddenly became aware of the filthy back alley pavement closing in on his face, his vision turning into a blur of shapes and colours. His body went limp, none of his silent screams begging for control being answered. He tried to keep his eyes open, only to find a shadow tugging at his hand. At least, he thought it was his hand. He couldn't feel anything anymore. Losing track of any coherent thought, he gave in. He welcomed the darkness.

-/-

"McGee."

"...and then the roaming signal was gone and SIM-based location search only works for GSM and UTMS technology, which I'm not even sure Tony's –"

"_MCGEE."_

"Sorry, boss. Last known location is close to yours."

"_How close?"_

"I'm not sure. Ten, maybe twenty feet."

"_Keep tracking the phone. And check for Philadelphia law enforcement officers, first name Noah, and cross-reference them with Dinozzo's case files."_

"It's going to take a while, boss, I need my NCIS computers, I can't access the files from he-"

And, right on cue, the call disconnected. He should have known better than to launch in explanations consisting of more than four words. He remembered his first days and NCIS, and the first time he was left staring incredulously at the phone, wondering if it had suddenly short-circuited.

How much had changed. McGee glanced at his watch, yawning in protest. A quarter to one. He was getting used to waking up to the annoying, long-winded ring of his phone, the notion of undisturbed sleep seeming completely lost on his friends. But this was different. It was Tony. He wouldn't be caught dead admitting it, but he was actually worried about the senior field agent. In the years spent bickering, teasing and mostly mocking one another, he had come to look up to Tony as an older brother, a slightly loony one, but still someone who had been there for him every time he needed it. And even when he didn't. That was the crazy thing about Anthony DiNozzo. He could annoy you to the point of considering the pain infliction efficiency of every paper clip, stapler or pencil sharpener in the surrounding area, but when things got tough, there was no one who handled it better. At least when it came to helping others. When doing it for himself, it was all crash and burn.

* * *

_It was so incredibly boring and exhausting. If he never saw a credit card statement again in his life, McGee's tombstone would read that he died happy. He rubbed the cobwebs away from his eyes, trying to decide if the numbers on the screen were actually dancing or it was all just a colourful figment of his overworked imagination. In an attempt to resuscitate the part of his brain that felt paradoxically both on the verge of exploding and numb, he glanced up to scan the poorly lit bullpen, feeling utterly miserable when he realised that, besides the Middle East operators who usually worked on a complementary schedule, they were the only ones burning the midnight candle. Or early morning, as the clock on the computer so diligently showed._

_As per the usual, Gibbs was down in Abby's lab, or in autopsy talking to Ducky, or, if things were as gloomy as they seemed, giving the director a piece of his mind. Lost in thought, McGee briefly entertained the idea of him being in all three places at the same time. Somehow, basic laws of physics didn't seem to apply to an angry Gibbs. A furious tap on the keyboard brought him back to reality. Looking over, he read the frustration on Ziva's face. It mirrored his. Days and days of poring over obscure records and unnecessarily detailed statements, only to keep hitting dead ends when things finally seemed to look up. Five dead marines, and they weren't any closer to finding the killer than they were at the beginning of the investigation, even though midnight phone calls to a crime scene like the one they had arrived from that morning had become routine._

_He felt a wave of nausea when, glancing down at his boots, he remembered the rotten smell of what were, most likely, the stomach contents of the victims scattered all over his shoes. That amounted to a truly bad start to the day, and, to his dismay, there was no indication of improvement anytime soon. At least he could enjoy the quiet, as opposed to the regular rustle and agitation. And at that moment, it hit him. It was a little too quiet._

_Startled by the sudden realisation, he quickly turned his head to check the desk on his left. If he hadn't been so exhausted himself, he would have considered the scene funny. On top of a mountain of folders and reports, Tony's head rested in what had to be an extremely uncomfortable position, while drooling over some unfinished paperwork that didn't look salvageable anymore. In a moment of pure mischievousness, McGee opened the drawer to the cabinet behind him, slamming it shut with much more force than necessary._

_DiNozzo's reaction to the sudden noise was priceless. Disoriented, he rose to his feet almost immediately, one hand on his holster and the other one on his gear. But in his hastened attempt to fake alertness and awareness, he had swiped the cup of coffee of his desk, masterfully painting his jeans and shirt a dark shade of brown. Cursing under his breath, he turned to McGee, who, despite himself, had burst into a slight fit of laughter._

"_What the hell, Probie? Is this your version of McPayback?" he seethed._

"_It was quite funny, actually." Ziva commented, raising her head from behind the monitor to reveal an amused smirk._

"_I'm sure it was. Didn't your parents ever teach you not to wake a man when he's sleeping? I was having the best dream.", he whined, trying unsuccessfully to hide the stains by tucking in his shirt._

"_Naked girls, palm trees and a beach? You have that dream every time. Meanwhile, some of us are actually working." McGee teased, still grinning from ear to ear as he watched Tony's futile attempts at covering his clumsiness._

"_Yeah, so was I, until you decided to take a page from a Metallica concert." He quickly retorted, finally giving up on his shirt. "Going to change clothes, McChaperone. Be back in ten."_

_Half an hour later, he finally reappeared, dressed as sharp as ever in a dark blue suit and a plain white shirt. It was more rumpled than his usual attires, sign of the limited storage space the locker had provided, but still looked decent, courtesy of an overpriced designer label._

_McGee snorted inaudibly at the sight, debating whether having a suit as a back-up was a stroke of genius or a mark of self-importance and an elephant-sized ego. Returning to his work with a resigned sigh, he barely had time to glance down to the keyboard when an extra-caffeinated Abby stormed into the bullpen._

"_Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs!." She stopped, confused by the absence of the team leader, but quickly readjusted her approach. "McGee, McGee, McGee! I found something! Well, more like nothing, but see, that's the point, if there was something it would be like everything and it's noth..."_

"_ABBY." The trio called in unison, stopping her ramble short. _

"_Geez. Cranky. " she frowned. "Ok, so...we know the victims were tortured, killed and dumped in isolated areas, which pretty much makes them crimes of premeditation."_

"_Not exactly earth-shattering news, Abs." Tony interjected, instantly feeling something connect with the back of his head. _

"_She wasn't finished, Dinozzo." The team leader had somehow materialized behind the younger agent._

"_Gibbs! I was just telling Grumpy, Sleepy and Grouchy here what I found." she gleamed, tilting back and forth on her heels in excitement. _

"_I heard."_

"_Right. Kickass ninja Marine skills. Got it. Well, as I was saying, first three crime scenes were frustratingly clean. Well, not clean, dirty really, but ...immaculate in the sense there wasn't any real evidence. The killer was careful and methodical. Which bugged me , 'cause there always is something to trace or analyze, you know? Instead you had to go out and find a psychopath with an OCD disorder. "_

"_You mentioned only the first three crime scenes. Is there something different with the one from this morning? " Ziva interrupted._

"_Apart from two dead guys singing hymns with the angels instead of one? Yeah, I'd say. This was messy-"_

"_You don't need to remind me." McGee thought out loud, earning an annoyed glare._

"_As I was saying, this was unusually sloppy, which means Major Mass Spec had a pretty busy day. Night. Morning. Anyway. Found a blood sample that doesn't match the rest. "_

"_Killer's?"_

"_Absolutely not 100% sure. Still working on that. Buut...my spidey senses do tell me this was result of a struggle, rather than cold-blooded-stay-awake-at-night-and-think-about-it murder, like the ones before."_

"_He must be pretty strong, taking on two Marines and be the only one left standing." Ziva commented with a hint of admiration._

" _Yeah, a regular Hulk moment. Judging from the wounds of the victims, the likely scenario is that one of them was the intended target and the other one just a good samaritan at the right place, wrong time. Killer probably panicked. Tried to cover his tracks, and did it fairly well - but he didn't count on me, forensic scientist extraordinaire." She beamed, earning an endearing look from the team members. "Anyway, this all seems to indicate that it was his first Jigsaw __moment, not last, like we thought. Ducky should be able to tell you if I'm right. Which I am." she stated playfully, fidgeting with the lamp on McGee's desk and creating a very distracting disco ball effect that took away from the seriousness of the moment._

"_So...we still got nothing, actually." Tony vocalized in disappointment, putting his head in his hands in a gesture of defeat._

"_Oh, ye of little faith. Just wait and see. My babies will come through." , Abby assured in her happy stride towards the elevator, her pigtails bouncing with the newfound excitement of the prospect of finally putting an end to the string of gruesome murders. _

"_Well, it looks like today isn't going to be such a bad day, after all." McGee smiled in agreement, or rather sheer hope, just as the Goth disappeared behind the steel doors. _

_He had no idea how wrong he could be - nine hours later, some things would change forever. _

* * *

Brushing off the memories, he picked up his car keys and his phone, congratulating himself for not bothering to change out of his work clothes. That, he figured, increased his chances of surviving a fuming Gibbs, since it gave him more time to get to the bottom of the whole messed-up situation. The fact that the whole drive to NCIS was made in a manner which would have made Ziva proud didn't hurt, either.

Sitting at his desk, extra large coffee in his hand, McGee began sifting through outdated records, praying that his partner hadn't run out of "almosts".

-/-

He opened his eyes lazily, confused by the rough, cold surface pressing against his back. More so, by the awareness that there was no protective layer shielding him from it, the glacial touch on his bare skin feeling like a thousand needles tearing through it. He tried to jerk away, but his attempt was met with a shooting pain in his wrists, where a jagged piece of metal was rubbing them raw.

It took a few moments to finally process what was happening. His first thoughts revolved around a crazy one-night-stand gotten out of control – not the first time he would have woken up half-dressed in a stranger's bed. That was before taking in the view before him. A weak, flickering light bulb was the only source of light in the windowless room, outlining old, harsh brick walls and a dirty, chalky floor. There was nothing else, the emptiness that engulfed the place exacerbating the dreaded sensation of claustrophobia. On the far side of it, a narrow flight of stairs marked the only exit, or, seen through a trained eye, the only chance of escape.

Memories of the previous night had come back in full force, along with a sharp pain in the back of his head. He racked his brain trying to remember a detail, a fact, something to make sense of it, to grope a lifeline that gave him a clue as to what exactly had landed him in there. First impressions didn't betray – he knew the man- or, at least, he had met him before, but his mind was intent on coloring a distorted series of snapshots in a blur, revealing everything through an unfocused lens.

He wasn't afraid, even of the unknown. One would argue that it was the rigorous training he had gone through, or the countless times he had found himself in a situation with no apparent solution, only to make it to the other end seemingly unscathed. But this was different. He wasn't afraid. He wasn't anxious, he wasn't scared or angry. He wasn't impatient to find a way out. He was curious. Curious to discover which of the demons in his past would come to haunt him this time. Resigned. Accepting of his fate, of what he had seen long coming. He knew Gibbs would move mountains to find him. And he probably would, eventually. But he asked himself just how much he wanted to be found. He didn't deserve it. His faults were too great, and the punishment too little. He had already found himself. Here, alone, in the dark room, he finally let go of all he was holding on to. Stripped bare of the charade of emotions, he let himself feel, for the first time, the unforgiving remorse, the undiminished guilt of what he had done. He closed his eyes, waiting. For a sign, for an assurance.

The door at the top of the stairs opened with a loud screech. The heavy footsteps became closer and closer, until the silhouette rested just under the shred of light. It emphasized the scar on his face, the quiet rage, the determination, the anguish in his eyes. Looking over at his prisoner, he smirked.

"Welcome to your own personal hell, Agent DiNozzo."

Tony laughed. What a cliché. The poor man was clueless. He had no idea that he was already there.

***AN: There aren't, nor will there be any sexual themes in the upcoming chapters of the story, despite details that could be interpreted as such at this point. **


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: To all those who take time to review and follow, a huge thank you. Answers or more questions in this chapter- I'm not sure. Hope you like, though:)**

Chapter 5

The lights on the side of the road flashed in an undistinguishable sequence, the empty streets rolling under the car with a dizzying speed. It was an unusually silent drive. She was used to the quietness that came with being around Gibbs, and actually found it pleasant, but this was not the team leader mulling over the latest development of a case. It was not silence anymore, it was tension, worry, doubt, anger. Ziva was torn between her own indecisions and concerns, unwilling to examine unspoken words and yielding gestures under the harsh light of insecurity and nerve-racking anticipation. She had long lost hope in untangling the complicated webs their ever-changing relationship had woven over the years.

She didn't have the luxury to consider him anything more than her partner and friend for the moment – she was afraid that, if she allowed herself to search for a deeper meaning- she would lose the only thing she had held on to so intently for longer than she could remember- her strength. She did it for her as much as she did it for him; he needed her to be confident, tough, focused. Everything he knew she was and expected her to be. Brushing off the cold air of the night, she slid out of the car, after it had come to an excruciatingly abrupt stop in the NCIS parking lot. Without a word, Gibbs rushed inside the building, leaving her standing in a cloud of darkness. She made her way to the main entrance in the same hurried manner, putting on a mask of her own. She was now Special Agent Ziva David, impassable, unemotional, and deadly.

She found McGee typing frantically at his desk, an expression of frustration embedded on his face. He glanced up at her muttered "hello", mumbling something in return. He didn't even notice when she strode over to his desk, almost jumping out of his chair when he felt her hand falter on his shoulder.

"You need to slow your tumble, McGee."

"What?" he frowned, confused. "My roll, Ziva."

"I have no desire of seeing your roll, McGee." , she retorted, taken aback.

"No...it's "slow your roll". And I can't. I can't find anything. No one with the name Noah has ever crossed paths with Tony in Philadelphia. I went over the records twice, and...nothing."

"A description would help."

"Yeah, I know that, Ziva, I passed Investigation Techniques 101, too." he bit back, immediately regretting his words. "Sorry. It's just...this past couple of months have been hard enough, and now this? It's like we can't catch a break – like _he _can't catch a break. "

"The best thing we can do to help him is to keep working, McGee." Ziva soothed, patting him on the back.

"I know. "he sighed. "So, you said something about a description?"

"Yes. The waitress at the bar was extremely...helpful."

"I wonder why.", he scoffed.

Ignoring his last comment, Ziva marched back to her desk, graciously falling back on her chair, and launched in a detailed recount of the conversation she had had with the eager witness, her voice lined with an unintentional edge.

"Nothing. Not even with the updated parameters. Absolutely nothing. " he groaned, squinting at the flickering "No match found" sign on his monitor.

It was getting extremely frustrating.

"Where's Gibbs? He's usually here to point out my failures. " he suddenly remembered, deeming his the lack of irritated growls quite strange.

"In Abby's lab, I believe. We found Tony's cellphone near a dumpster in the back alley. She is probably working on it." Ziva explained, her gaze still focused on an invisible point in front of her.

"Right. Well, I think I'm gonna go help. I'm not much good here, anyway." he surrendered, heading off towards the stairs.

Once again, she found herself alone, in the darkness, her thoughts astray.

* * *

"_He is not fine, Gibbs."_

"_NCIS Special Elf Lord glittered on McGee's jacket says otherwise."_

"_I am serious. He arrives early, he stays late...he has the same clothes on for days at a time. He barely even talks to anybody anymore. You can not tell me that is normal for Tony."_

"_No. I can't."_

_-/-_

"_Are you alright, Tony?"_

"_Why wouldn't I be, Zee-vah?"_

"_You are not acting like yourself. You almost made the witness cry."_

"_You mean I don't act like a twelve year old scared of his own shadow anymore? Yes, I see how that could become a problem for you."_

"_Excuse me?"_

"_Don't pretend you don't enjoy the deadly-Mossad-ninja and wimpy sidekick routine. "_

"_I do not know what you are talking about. I simply asked because I am worried about you."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because you are my partner."_

"_Exactly, Ziva. I am your partner. That means that aside from work, we don't have anything to talk about."_

"_This is interfering with your work."_

"_And what might "this" be?"_

"_Whatever it is that is bothering you. "_

"_And what makes you think there is something bothering me?"_

"_You barely sleep or eat. Both, I believe, you do here, or in Abby's lab. You reek of alcohol every morning, you are much more aggressive than necessary with suspects, and lately you take risks that put yourself and others in danger. Should I continue? "_

"_Oh, so you don't think I can do my job right, is that it?"_

"_I did not say that."_

"_Do you really think Gibbs would let me set foot in this building if he didn't think I was able to do it?"_

"_Tony, I..."_

"_At least this time you told it to my face. It's something, I guess. If you don't trust me to have your back, McGee is more than capable to do it. Tell Gibbs you want to switch and be done with it. After all, there is nothing he wouldn't do for his precious little daughter."_

"_Enough."_

"_Why? It would be better for everyone if you did it."_

"_I am concerned about you. Not only as your partner, but as your friend."_

"_No, Ziva. __I__ am your friend. I have been for a long time. Even when you didn't want me to be. When the FBI framed you, I put everything on the line to prove you weren't the person they thought you were. When your father's political agenda left you in the crosshairs, I organised a search party. When CI-Ray screwed up time and time again, I was there to pick up the pieces. When Mike Franks died, I was there. Same with your father, even though I had to drag you kicking and screaming. But, every time, you proved just how little faith you had in me, how little you trust me as an agent and as a man. See...__I was__ your friend. Don't get me wrong, I made my fair share of mistakes. I didn't always do the right thing, but I always cared. You, on the other hand...and this? This is just to make you feel better that you can fix me, to feel good about yourself and your newfound powers of empathy. Don't worry. I'm fine, and I wouldn't want to waste five minutes of your precious time anyway telling you otherwise, Ziva."_

_-/-_

"_You know he didn't mean that, Ziver. He's not thinking straight."_

"_I know. But it does not hurt any less."_

* * *

"You really should come up with better punch lines. It's kinda hard to take you seriously when you say stuff like that."

The man just looked at him blankly.

"So, why am I here, Frederick? Got a butterfly collection you want to show me? "

He began pacing slowly throughout the length of the room, his hands fiddling with something shiny.

"I know I'm funny and interesting and so very charming, but talking to myself loses its appeal after a while. Not to mention, I'm freezing my ass off here. Is this one of your kinky fantasies we talked about? 'Cause the whole chain thing wasn't really necessary. Or maybe if you had the little furry ones, I'd be more open. "

He was closer and closer from his hostage, the object in his hand revealing its sharp edges in the poor light.

"I didn't sleep with your girlfriend, did I? Or your wife? 'Cause I gotta say, this is what you would call overreacting. Most men settle for a good punch. You little over-achiever. " He followed the man with his gaze, hoping that his reactions would clue him in as to his purpose. "Or did I send you to jail? I feel like I should mention that this is probably a violation of your parole. "

The man was now mere inches away from him.

"Not even a hint? It's not polite to leave your guest hanging."

Suddenly, he felt the cold blade of a knife touching the sensitive skin on his neck, drawing the faintest sliver of blood. Finally, the man spoke.

"You know...I dreamed so much about this. What I'd do, how I'd make you pay." The knife lingered slowly on his chest, leaving behind tiny rivers of crimson. "Didn't even think it would be that easy to get you here. " Tony winced, more at the words, than at the pain. "It's even crossed my mind that deep-down, you _wanted_ to come." The knife changed its path, followed by the pensive gaze of the man, whose eyes were unfocused, yet burning with a quiet anger. "I wondered if you had acquired some new suicidal tendencies since the last time we saw each other..." The knife pressed harder onto his shoulder."...or you were simply getting better at hiding your true nature. I think it's a little bit of both. " He raised his head, now staring curiously in deep green eyes. "I reckon you don't actively seek an untimely ending, and yet ...you don't seem to go out of your way to avoid it, either. " He stopped, sighing in an exaggerated, mocking manner, irony dripping from his next words. "Wonder what's got under the skin of this _very special agent_. " A sinister smile crept up on his features. "Don't worry, though, you'll tell me. It will give me great pleasure to make you relive it. Again. And again. "

"Sounds like you thought this out. Still, I would appreciate if we would put away the sharp objects. It's starting to get a little uncomfortable." Tony retorted, his tone even, emotionless, but the screaming voices in his thoughts pounding away at the crumbling wall in his head.

"You put on a good show, Agent Dinozzo – but not good enough. You see, those so-called clues you slipped the bartender are more telling than you'd have wanted them to be. You're not at the end of the road. Close. You just need a little push." The man paused and straightened up, a cruel grin smudged on his face. "Then all you'll be able to feel will be emptiness. A beautiful hole of darkness and agony. "

"Quite the little poet, aren't we?"

"When you find yourself immersed in it, you learn to embrace the comfort of obscurity. You let the pieces of your former self bask in the impossibility to fall deeper. It's pure beyond any feeling-dead and alive, at the same time-and yet never with more clarity. Renouncing anything in the world. Except one thing."

"Do tell. You're making me curious." He knew he should press harder, he knew that it was the moment to turn the tables on the man.

"Revenge."

"Guess that's where I come in."

The man smiled, slightly impressed at the unconcerned look on Tony's face. In a swift move, he wiped the blood off the blade with a carefully folded napkin from his pocket in a studied gesture, which gave away an unsettling easiness in his behaviour. The detail didn't escape the trained eye of the federal agent, but any recognition was internal, his expression blank, defiant.

"Right. Still haven't told me what for, though. I feel like I've earned that, after your little DIY session."

"That's just a taste of what's to come.", he announced briskly, dropping the delicately wrapped knife back in his pocket.

"I figured. Don't seem like a guy who gives up easily. "

"I'm not." He was already at the bottom of the stairs.

"So, why not just tell me why the hell am I here? Can't imagine you enjoy these conversations. Or, if you do, you're even more insane than I thought."

It was a moment of humanity- of quiet desperation- he dreaded another series of endless hours spent dredging up painful memories. Time was not his friend, not when he was alone with his thoughts.

"I do enjoy seeing you squirm. The not knowing, the uncertainty, the questions that leave no awake moment peaceful? Seems a pity you would miss that. " Suddenly, his tone changed, from light and mocking to dark and foreboding. "But make no mistake, by the time I'm finished with you, you _will _know. You _will_ feel it in every inch of your body. Every thought, every memory of it will burrow deep in your soul and mind-until there's nothing left. Every image, every moment of happiness you have ever experienced will drown in the pain and guilt of what you've done-I will make sure of that."

The look in his eyes, threatening and remorseless, betrayed the figure of a man with nothing to lose, with the sole purpose of a blinding mission. Tony knew. It was a mirrored image of him. Or it would be, if he lost the last shred of hope that had subconsciously held him glued when he had felt he had lost himself. Now, it was a question of whether he could live with that image or not. He had to decide, before it was too late, before he took a road which had no end in sight.

The sound of a door closing seemed far away.

-/-

"What brings you to my humble abode, Timmy?" Abby smiled, glancing up from a tiny circuit board.

"Complete and utter failure, Abs. I feel like I'm disappointing everybody. Tony, Ziva, Gibbs..." he let himself fall back onto one of the chairs. "By the way, where is he? I haven't seen him since I arrived, and he's usually yelled at me twice by now."

"And I still might do it if you don't make yourself useful, _Timmy._" The team leader strode in with the usual extra-large Caff-Pow and supernatural hearing.

"Right, boss. Just waiting for Abby to tell me what to do."

"Hey, don't put this on me, Mr. Self-Pity-Party-of-One. I never said I needed your help." ,she smirked. "But if you're here, you can help me search for a security camera with a clear view to the back alley of the bar."

"Are there any?" he asked, doubtful.

"_I don't know,_ McGee. That would be the whole point, for you to find out." She enunciated slowly, just like talking to a child. With a scowl, the agent turned his chair to the computer, beginning to tap quickly on the keyboard.

"Abby, you have something? Or you called me to play referee?" Gibbs intervened, slightly annoyed.

"Do I look like I need a referee, bossman?" she beamed. "I do have something. But I can't make heads or tails of it. I've recovered some incoming messages from Tony's phone -which _was not easy_ in such a short time- since this baby is completely smashed, and they are all dated from the last few months- same unknown number, apparently.", she concluded, her smile faltering.

"Apparently?" Gibbs questioned, sensing some doubt in what were usually unwavering conclusions.

"Well, I'm missing the last three digits."

"Can you get them?"

"I can and I will, but I do need a little more time. This is not as easy as it looks, Gibbs." she pleaded, thin lines of tiredness and frustration under her eyes.

"Ok, Abby, so how does this all help me anyway?" Gibbs questioned, increasingly more frustrated.

"Well...normally I'd say it's some overly attached chick that Tony left pining for more. But the strange thing is, the messages have some kind of pattern. In themselves, they are garbage- the texting equivalent of a butt dial- but taken as a whole-it's a repetitive sequence of numbers and letters. And they are all sent at exactly the same hour, every day - ten twenty-four AM."

"And why the hell hasn't Dinozzo thought to mention this?"

"Right. Because we all know how forthcoming Tony about his private life. I mean, the _real_ one." she scoffed, the irritation of the team leader subsiding slightly. For her sake, she would keep his emotions under control-anger, worry or exasperation- a temper tantrum would make more damage than good. But it proved more difficult than he predicted.

"Have McGee look at it as soon as he's finished with the cameras. You work on that last digits." the team leader deadpanned, disappointed and disgruntled by the lack of a clear result, a lead he could follow right away. It tore him apart -having to wait when every minute was essential- but he knew that he had no choice. He mustered up all his strength and put it into creating a solid exterior, which he understood his agents needed- but inside he was feeling every bit as helpless as them, pounding at stone walls. That didn't stop him, though, from making a promise to himself to tear them down by any means necessary.

"Gibbs..." Abby pleaded with a tone that broke his heart. "I know it's not much, but it has to lead somewhere. 'Cause this is Tony, and...we have to find Tony. We always find Tony. He always comes back to us. Please tell me he will this time too, Gibbs." She launched herself in a hug in the arms of the team leader, seeking assurance from the man, from the father that had provided it so many times before. He held her tightly-as much for her comfort as for his, letting her bury her head in his chest.

"I hope so, Abs. " He tightened her grip around her, stroking her hair gently. "I hope so."


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Reviewers, followers-I'm running out of ways to thank you properly. This chapter was a difficult one to write, but I do hope I did it justice, especially since it is much in the gray, in many ways. Italics- flashback series, though, this time, from Tony's perspective.**

Chapter 6

He wondered how much time had passed. It seemed like days. The same setting, the same blank walls – the same flickering light, no way to tell. He wished he had his watch. To count the seconds, the minutes, the hours. There were more obvious, more pressing matters at hand, and yet, he could only think about the monotonous tick of a clock. One, two...fifteen...forty...fifty-one...sixty. And again. He wasn't there. He was on a beach, far away, wet sand underneath his feet. Deep blue, fluid dancers came tumbling down in splashes, making their way back into the infinite ocean. He wanted to join them, to dive in – but dark clouds were gathering. Grey, heavy foam was lingering across the once serene sky. The first drop of rain rested on his hand. Cold. Unforgiving. And yet, absolving, cleansing- purifying. He closed his eyes.

"_We have a lead."_

"_Remind me never to doubt Abby. "_

"_Or her babies."_

"_Vivid way of putting it, McFriend. Sounds creepy when you say it."_

"_Abby does. All the time."_

"_Abby's cute."_

The quivering flare cradled his tired features. He took in the view before him. Maybe staring at the empty walls could change the fact that he was trapped, in his own mind, in a place where the faintest light seemed blinding. Time came to a standstill there, and yet images raced to an inexistent finish line before his eyes.

"_Blood sample matched one Lieutenant Collins. Divorced. No kids, lives with his sister."_

"_We sure he's the killer?"_

"_Abby's sure."_

"_Good enough for me."_

Abby. Her white lab coat contrasting with the black of her clothes underneath. Even covered in the darkest of colours, she lit up the room. She was smiling at him. Big, green eyes melted into fierce loyalty and kindness. He loved the way she looked at him – honestly, lovingly – the way nobody had ever done before her. In her forgiving heart, in her happy stride, in her unrealized courage- he somehow found strength.

_Finally, they arrived._

"_Dinozzo,with me. Ziva, McGee, take the back." _

Tim, an annoyed look plastered on his face. That was reserved only for him - and yet, all he saw was his little brother. His friend. The agent he had become so proud of. It was his job to protect him. He willed himself to yank the chains a little harder. Ziva, dark curls covering bare shoulders. Beautiful, perfect. Motionless. Frozen in time - this time he wouldn't let go of her. He would come back, time and time again, for her. For that rare moment when he caught her smiling at one of his silly jokes-when everything seemed possible. He let out a scream of frustration - he was pinned.

"_Boss, you all right? Heard screaming. And something that sounded suspiciously like a curse."_

_Nothing._

"_Boss?"_

"_In here, Tony."_

Gibbs. Everything he didn't know was searching for. To teach him, to show him the way. To talk without any words. Or too many. To love him regardless of his flaws. In a way of his own, an unspoken one, an implicit one. To have his back despite his shortcomings. He knew. He had to fight. If not for himself, at least for them.

_He entered the room. Navy blue, the ceiling a widespread screen projection of gold shapes. Miniature planetarium. Her room. Annoyingly clean. Precise. Empty. A study, a bed. Bookcases. Astronomy. In the middle, a giant clump of dark clothes, shaped in a human form. Two watchers. The team leader, blood dripping from his nose and the arch of his brow, his arm slumped unnaturally against the white wall. A girl. No more than fifteen. At the end of her delicate hand, her fingers tightly gripped a Navy issued Sig Sauer._

He didn't feel worthy. Of Jimmy Palmer. Of Ducky. Men who stood by him-men of honour and fortitude. Those who had offered their friendship when he didn't even ask. Those who helped, when he couldn't. Unacknowledged heroes in their own right.

_ .This-this was wrong. This was not a situation, a case, at the end of a rusty book. It was real. Too much so. _

"_Hey there." Please, look at me. Look at me. "I'm Tony. We're the good guys."_

_Let me help you. Please. "So we don't need guns, do we?" He tried to smile._

_No-something was wrong. Her eyes were fixed. She was still. Almost too still._

"_Come on, please, put the gun down." Begging. He could feel the protest in his hands when he wished them steady. No. In what world was such a decision fair? You promised. I held my end of the bargain. Why?_

Why? Why were they all pushing him to do the one thing he couldn't? Hollow figurines danced around, begging him to try again. Why hadn't they given up, after all he'd lost, after all he'd done? Again. Harder. Why did they not leave, forget? Blood was trickling down on his wrists. Why didn't they give up? On him- on bringing him back from the brink? Why didn't they let him jump? He screamed, his emotions raw, unfiltered. Primal. Why, why, why?

"_He killed my brother." Her voice low, emotionless-a hand followed the dark shadow on the floor, anchoring the gun towards the silhouette resting against the wall._

_They exchanged looks. Blue eyes met with terror. Pleading. And yet, certain. Tortured. Tormented. And yet, determined. He understood. He couldn't ask for help. Memories of another life pinned him down. Shannon. Kelly. He saw. His look was mirrored. And yet, so different. Imploring him. And yet, unfaltering. Firm. Trusting._

"_He didn't. He's just resting for a while."_

"_I saw it."_

_Listen. Please, listen to me. "My boss here has a way of putting people to sleep that doesn't hurt."_

_No. That sounded wrong. Ziva. McGee. Where-why him? He couldn't. Her hands faltered under the weight of the gun. An opportunity. But she was too far. Too far to reach, to pull back. _

"_Liar." A cold stare encompassed hazel eyes. No. Please. Don't. No. No. It doesn't- it can't end this way. Please. He was certain the last word was not only on his mind, but on his lips. She didn't flinch. A light finger caressed the trigger._

He felt the pain fully, undiminished. The metal furrowing deeper into his skin, his hands and feet burying deeper into cold stone. It didn't matter. He needed to.

_He let out a deep breath. He forgot. To breathe. Everything had stopped. And yet it continued in the same ruthless manner. She lay there, frail, pale, champagne-coloured dress painted in crimson. Somehow, he found himself beside her. Pressing. Hoping. Praying. Holding her. But he knew. He hadn't missed. _

For a second, his body went limp. He let out breaths he didn't know he was holding. He slid across the chilly surface, beads of sweat trickling down along his firm muscles. He hadn't budged a single inch. But it felt like he had moved mountains.

_Tears were threatening to crumble the wall of self-restraint. He felt an unsteady hand on his shoulder. He shuddered away. No. It wasn't-it couldn't...he'd saved a life. And taken one. Pure, unvarnished. Why? How was that justice? He was just a man, a soldier, a pawn. No. He shouldn't have been put in place of the king. It was not his decision. He stared at her fragile hand, still grasping a weapon that was too harsh for her features. Why didn't she drop it? Wh-_

"_Tony."_

_Ziva. Distant, faint whisper._

"_Tony."_

_He raised his head. Her hand was on his, dulling the rhythmic motion of a helpless attempt. Her gentle touch brought him back. But he didn't want to be there. He wanted to go, to run, to escape the stillness of hazel eyes glaring in the distance of a starry night._

He lay there, unmoved. His breath slower and slower, until a merciful sleep swallowed all his memories.

_So he ran. He breezed past an unmoving Tim in the doorway, gun still drawn, incredulous eyes glued to the scene before him. He needed air. To breathe, to escape the walls quickly closing in on him. The door came unhinged as he powered through, blind to anything around him. He only saw a light, a light at the end of a very dark tunnel. But the faster he ran, the farther it went. The cold air of a chilly afternoon hit him in full force. He collapsed alongside the stone steps, ripping away his bulletproof vest in a hastened move, desperate for a sharp, unrestricted intake of air. His head dropped into his hands, both huddled against his knees. He felt something warm against his cheek. Glancing down, he shivered in realization. Red, thick. It was the unforgiving truth of what he had done. In a futile gesture, he rubbed his palms against his impeccable white shirt – much like an unknowing child swiping away his dirty hands. But he couldn't wash out everything. _

It was a long, dreamless sleep, or at least, so it seemed. Exhaustion, fear, anguish- everything had come to a halt.

_Loud voices ringing beside him. Calling him. Talking to each other. He didn't hear anymore._

"_...her brother ...knocked out...cuts and bruises...mostly alive..." A deep, unknown tone._

"_...Jethro...Bethesda. ... no shape to..." It felt and strangely both strict and mellow at the same time._

"_...not leaving him..." Authoritative. _

"_...staying...autopsy. Tim...Collins...hospital...not...out of sight..." _

_Endless conversations tumbling over each other. Tuning them out seemed like the only option to stay sane. He was right. The rustle stopped once he shut a black curtain above his eyes. He had lost track of any sense of time when he felt something pressing against his side. Unwillingly, he opened his eyes. Ziva. Calm. Quiet. She looked at him in a way she had never done before, eyes glistening with the tears of those she had lost. But her strength was unwavering, her look selfless and reassuring. How long had she been sitting there, beside him? _

"_Tony..."_

"_No words for this, Ziva. ", he cut her off, shifting his gaze upon an empty line._

_She stood silent for a while. _

"_You are right, there are not. It is a cruel, senseless twist of a fate neither of us believes in. So we must take it as such. Learn, that, in the most grim of moments, we show our true value, to us and those around us. We take decisions, and we learn to live with whatever they may bring, knowing we have done everything that was requested of us."_

"_He never asked me to save him..."_

"_And yet, had you not done it, the pain would have been much deeper, much more scarring."_

"_I asked her. I begged her. Ziva... I tried. I tried, and I tried. But she wouldn't even look at me. She just stared at him...haunted. If you could see her eyes...I couldn't take the risk...I knew Gibbs couldn't..." he broke off, coherency lost in mumbled apologies and explanations._

"_I know, Tony. I know." She squeezed his shoulder, resting her hand on his. The blurry shield of the evening caught them on the same steps, silent, waiting for a sign that wouldn't come._


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Follows, reviews, favorites- there are no words to express how much I appreciate them. **

Chapter 7

Cold water. The ocean. He opened his eyes. The same windowless room. Not the ocean.

"Time to wake up, sleeping beauty."

This time, he kept quiet. He was tired. The futile struggle to break free had taken everything out of him. Dried blood on wrists rubbed raw painted a picture of anguish and torment, and yet, imperceptible strokes tore through the nude canvass, animating it, bringing life from the deepest of wounds. It hurt more than ever. But at least, that meant he was alive. He felt, he touched, he wanted. He wasn't numb anymore.

* * *

_The Autopsy room had the ever frozen feeling of stillness, a heavyhearted serenity in its finality. He wondered if it had always been so. But then, everything had changed. In a single moment, he had become someone who he didn't recognize- or was afraid to - afraid of the things he was capable of doing for those who he loved. His hand hovered over the handle of the tiny door. He didn't want to open it. It meant facing something he wasn't prepared for. _

_The sound of light steps interrupted a train of thought that had long derailed. Ducky. He turned around to find him already seated at his tiny desk, poring over a particularly interesting magazine, a flickering lamp above it the only light. Had he been there all this time? He admonished himself mentally for being so careless, even in the safest of places. As a federal agent, had he permitted the events of the day to dull his senses, to question his instincts, he would have been dead inside a week. Then again, he didn't know if that bothered or worried him – more, he had made a conscious decision to not care. Or at least try. Try the black and white view, the only shades of grey in shredded fragments of memories and snippets of empty time._

"_Sorry, doc, didn't mean to bother you." ,he spoke, his voice rough and low. _

_The older man glanced up, a little too quickly, betraying tricks of covert operations he had __ masterfully _picked up in his years at the agency. Looking closer, Tony swore he could see the long, ruffled train of a beige wedding dress. He shrugged inwardly, pondering exactly how much of it was Gibbs' insistence that someone kept an eye on him and how much was Ducky's own concern. 

"_There is no need to apologize. As morbid as it sounds, you are always welcome here." He paused, a sad smile covering his features. It was an all too familiar pain for him. "Although I suspect I am the one who is intruding."_

_He trudged forward, resting against the cold slab, thankful for its cold touch. He had no answer. In all honesty, the overwhelming feeling of wanting to be both alone and drowned by a sea of people had been a constant presence. He couldn't decide what was worse. Left on his own, tormenting thoughts clouding every coherent thought – or forced in a social setting where all would come to surface in bitter moments of inadvertent remarks. _

"_It's okay. I just wanted...maybe if I could see her."_

"_Apologies count even less for the dead, I'm afraid, Anthony. I believe you are seeking an act of forgiveness that can not be granted."_

_The truth in the words echoed in his mind, but a small part in him wished he hadn't heard it. _

"_However, it may be in my power to offer you some comfort. I have finished the autopsy-"_

"_No-I don't want to hear it. "_

"_Actually, my dear boy, you might. "_

_"Al I need to know is what I did."_

"_I am well aware of the burden you choose to carry, but my intentions are only of easing it."_

"_I don't deserve it, Ducky." He muttered in defeat, watching as the kind doctor began pacing back and forth in front of him in a slow, rhythmic manner, already well into his story._

"_...the abnormal amounts of medication compelled me to take a peek at her previous medical records. Anthony, the poor girl suffered from a cruel illness called Asperger's syndrome." He explained, this time careful to look the young agent in the eyes._

"_I don't understand." Maybe now something would click inside him. _

"_This implies, unfortunately, an underdeveloped set of social skills. Specifically, a lack of demonstrated empathy and emotional reciprocity. You see, while she had a theoretical understanding of human emotions, the ability to interact with other people had been engaged only in laboratory contexts. The reality and fluidity of the situation provided difficult to handle, so she retorted to the basic rationalization of events. What that amounted to was an extremely unfortunate circumstance." _

_He paused, searching for a reaction from the younger man. The one he caught glimpse of was heartbreaking. He had hoped it was enough._

"_That doesn't change anything."_

"_Tony-"_

"_It only means I should have tried harder. Read the signs more carefully. I appreciate what you are trying to do, Ducky, but ...nothing can change the fact that she's dead. You know, I'm sure she had dreams. The sky at night. The stars, the books. She had her whole life in front of her. And I just..." he trailed off, unable to continue._

"_What you perceived as an avid interest is, more probably, a display of the restricted and repetitive routine a child with this disorder immerses himself in. I believe-"_

"_Don't you see?_ _It doesn't matter. These are just details, that, in the grand, twisted scheme of things, lose any significance. So let's not pretend what I did was not a horrendous, detestable act of selfishness."_

"_Selfishness?" The shock reverberated in the medical examiner's voice._

"_I chose Gibbs."_

* * *

The team leader threw his fourth empty cup of coffee across the room in a shot that would have made his senior field agent proud. It was more frustration than anything else- the frustration of a dead end, of a dreadful wait. The camera angle hadn't panned out – a single one had provided them with an exceptionally blurry image of a one-sided fight. It tore through him, watching the familiar shadow hitting the ground, then being carried away outside the frame. He wanted to reach beyond the screen, to kill, to maim the man that had so easily subdued his agent. A nagging voice in the back of his mind was debating whether it was a show of skill and competence on part of the stranger, or a foreshadowing impassiveness on part of his agent. He couldn't decide which was worse – what he was sure of, though, was that each would bring its own set of problems. But he was determined to fight through. He wouldn't stop until he brought him back to his friends. His family.

-/-

"No snarky remarks today? " He smirked. "I'm disappointed."

"Well, I figured I've talked enough. Can't wait to hear what you have to say, though. " Tony smiled defiantly, but it wasn't the same cheeky grin of indifference that he had plastered on before. It was calculated, meticulously composed. Yes, he would fight. It was going to be more difficult than anything he had endured before, but nothing compared to the alternative of telling Gibbs he had simply given up, that all he taught him was pointless, that all the nights and days spent in his home, drinking beer over a steak, were meaningless.

"I don't know, I don't plan on doing much talking. See, I'm more of a... visual kind of guy." He laughed, sitting on one of the bottom stairs in the most casual and unnerving of ways. Staring directly into deep green eyes, he revealed nothing but eerie hollowness.

Tony understood. He had done this before. There were no empty threats. There was just the hope he was strong enough to bear it.

-/-

He had almost crashed into her when he exited the elevator. The five-nine goth had launched in full force through the doors, only his sharpened Marine reflexes saving them from a painful collision.

"Gibbs! I was looking for you."

"You found me, Abs. You have something?"

"Not me, Timmy does. Well, I have something too, but I'm not sure exactly what.", she pondered while striding back to her lab and dragging the team leader behind her by his hand. She stopped in front of a big white board, covered in letters and numbers scribbled in various bright colours. McGee was frantically tapping on the keyboard, unfazed by the new presence –which meant he was so absorbed by his current task, that he had abandoned the nervous stutter that Gibbs caused him whenever he entered a room hungry for answers.

"Abby, you going to make me ask?"

"Oh, so impatient, my fearless leader. " She earned a glare."It's Tony. I know. But we're going to find him, Gibbs. I know it. Madame Zora told me so. "

"Madame Zora?" he couldn't restrain from questioning.

"Not important. Stay on track, bossman. So...first things first. After strenuous efforts, I got the missing parts of the cellphone number. " she flashed a smile, hoping to soften the sullen expression on his face. " But this is one crafty dude we're dealing with. The number belongs to a burn phone, which so far I haven't been able to trace to a name. The only thing I did manage to find out was that the messages sent to Tony were the only ones outgoing, which was hinky, 'cause who gets a phone for a single-"

"I got it!" Tim interrupted with a loud, victorious scream, which made both of their head turn in surprise. The sudden staring contest had thrown him off, stopping him in his tracks with his hands in the air- he was not expecting the audience.

"Well, spill it, McGoo, we're not getting any younger here." Abby admonished playfully.

"Right. The sequence. Well, at first I went for the symmetric-key algorithms, Feistel –the whole nine yards." Any long-winded explanation equivalent to an intro in cryptography was cut off by a menacing glare. "But then I realized- the messages were meant for Tony. " This time, Abby growled softly in protest. "Abby, I'm just saying- the extent of his technological knowledge is forwarding a mail chain."

Gibbs laughed to himself. McGee had been so easily tricked by the senior field agents' ministrations. He had no idea how good Tony was with computers in truth, choosing to defer to McGee for the sake of not upsetting the well-oiled machine they had formed. Of course, they were a far cry from the junior agents' computer engineering degrees, but still, the team leader wouldn't bet against him.

"Anyway. I think it's something much more simple. A call number, if I'm right. "

"Like for a book?" the forensic scientist inquired, intrigued.

"Yeah, the public library filing system matches. Went over their records, and, according to their archive, it belongs to a Hemingway novel. " He paused reluctantly. "The Old Man and the Sea. "

There was no end to the frustration in Gibbs' eyes. The questions kept piling on, and there were no clear answers in sight.

***AN: Technical parts-bit of a learning curve for me. So, for this chapter and the ones to come, I apologize for any mistakes. **


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